


Neverland, You Seek

by LiquidLobotomy



Series: A Good Man Goes to War [15]
Category: World of Warcraft
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, M/M, Shadowlands
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-13
Updated: 2021-03-20
Packaged: 2021-03-20 23:48:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30012840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiquidLobotomy/pseuds/LiquidLobotomy
Summary: It’s Neverland, you seek. You might as well get comfortable here. This is where you belong.To die will be an awfully big adventure.- JM Barrie
Relationships: Flynn Fairwind/Mathias Shaw, Mathias Shaw/Edwin VanCleef
Series: A Good Man Goes to War [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1923286
Comments: 41
Kudos: 25





	1. The Unquiet Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _All of this has happened before, and it will all happen again._

“Many thanks to you, friend,” Aithlyn smiled brightly to the little fox-like creature as they exchanged parcels in trade at her kiosk on the edge of the compound. Vulpera, she recalled belatedly as he ran off, his tail swishing behind him. She took a peek through the package left behind, leathers and cloth, with enough to supplement her stores for more items to be crafted for champions and wildhunters alike. She took the bolts into her arms and brought them back to her husband, who was tending to their little silkstrider with bits of ardenapple and nightplums. 

“More supplies,” Aithlyn announced, organizing the goods in the baskets near him. She stopped to pass her fingers through the mess of his dark hair against his brow, letting her touch slide up the velvet coating an antler. “And how is little Gertie today?”

 _Ravenous_ , Rowan silently responded with a quick hand signal. _She’s about to clean us out of apples._ Aithlyn scrunched up her flat nose, suppressing a giggle.

“If you can keep an eye on the table, perhaps I can skip off to Flutterby for some treats. We have a bit of anima we can trade out for it.” She reached down to gently scritch the little worm between its pincers, earning a happily trilling coo in return. 

Aithlyn turned her attention back to her husband. She found him looking past her, his face fallen of its joy and his brow furrowed suspiciously. “What is it?”

Rowan gave a nod towards the commissary table, his expression impassible. _Herne_ , he signed. Aithlyn huffed a sigh and went back to her commissary table.

“I handed in an inventory report recently, Lord Commander. Everything’s still accounted for and we’ve had a surplus of textiles come in through the champions. New leathers and robes should be done in record time,” she said hurriedly, hoping he would take the hint. 

“I’m not here about the commissary, Aithlyn,” Herne said pointedly.

“Then the answer is no,” she replied, attempting to turn her back. “I stepped down a long time ago from assignments.”

“You know I wouldn’t come to you for fieldwork unless I had no other choice. I have respected that and the job you and your mate do here,” the commander broached. “But, you were asked for specifically.”

“I don’t care,” Aithlyn groused, crossing her arms. “If I wanted an eternity of recon missions and marks, I would have been sent to Maldraxxus the moment I stepped foot in Oribos. I told you when my mate joined me that I was done. I want none of that. I can't justify putting the two of us in harms way for something I may have been talented in during my life.”

“A threat to one realm is a threat to us all,” Herne reminded her as she shifted her attention to her mate. Rowan shook his head. “Aithlyn, you’re my best ranger and strategist. You’ve caught the attention of the House of the Eyes for some time now, and they have requested your assistance on more than one occasion. I’ve held them off as long as I can, but Lady Draka’s senior operative asked for you by name, the both of you.”

Her eyes snapped to her superior. “You can’t be serious,” she growled incredulously as Rowan came to stand beside her.

 _He’s here, he knows_ , Rowan signed to her. She could feel his panic pouring off him.

 _You can’t know that_ , she signed back. “You know my answer, Herne. We would prefer to stay here, where it’s calm and it’s safe.”

“Look around you,” Herne exasperated. “With the drought, we’re no longer safe. The Drust are amassing numbers, the Wilds are no longer what they were. The Blade has assisted us several times now, please let me repay the favor by helping them.”

Aithlyn clicked her jaw, her brow knitted in indignance. “And with the insurgence of mortals, who’s going to run the commissary, hm? One of _them?_ ”

“I can have Liawyn pulled from Oribos in a starblink,” Herne offered. “She's kept up the quartermaster's stalls for us ever since the mortals crossed over and she’s well versed in the care of silkstriders, that I’m aware. She’ll be able to tend to your little one.”

Rowan tapped her shoulder. _Love, we can’t. You know we can’t._

 _What choice do we have?_ Aithlyn pressed her lips into a line and closed her eyes. “Fine, but The Blade can come here for the brief. I will _not_ go to Maldraxxus.”

Herne nodded. “Understood. Thank you, truly,” he said softly, his deep voice barely a rumble as he walked away back towards the inner sanctuary at the heart of the forest.

_I don’t like this, Ains. Something doesn’t feel right._

“I know.” she muttered. He took her hand and gave it a squeeze. “But we have each other, yeah?”

_You and me, kid._

“You and me,” she repeated absently, a knot forming in gut.

@}—>—

The Stonewright glared out her window with one arm tucked across her chest, the other propped to hold a goblet of blood red anima-wine against her temple. She looked on with disinterest, the field of newly birthed stoneborn stepping out into the night, uneasy on their feet while her legionnaires and enforcers set them to task, taught them to run, to fly, to fight. Soon they will be soaring above the ballustrides, discreetly collecting anima for their stores to offer to the Maw. 

She had received the message of Denathrius’ entrapment. The fool. He had let his decadence get the better of him. He was sloppy, in her opinion, didn’t know how to keep his desires in check. Ultimately, he had done it to himself.

She took a sip of her wine at the sound of clawed stone feet entering her chamber. Minions, second talons no doubt to annoy her further. Pawns on the board. Every last one of them. The stoneborn were nothing more than knives in her sheath.

“Report.”

“The Lady delivered the soul you had requested, and we have the shipment ready to depart,” replied Eviscera proudly. 

“And did the Court interfere?”

“No, ma’am,” Shenraa added. “They think that the anima is to be distributed among the covenants.”

“Where is the soul now?”

“In the phylactery.” There was a pause. The Stonewright inclined her head.

“What now?” she demanded.

“We’ve found spies on our southern borders,” Eviscera broached carefully. “Maldraxxi.”

The Stonewright flared her nose in disgust and took another gulp of her wine. “It is of no matter. All is going according to plan. Soon, we shall see to it that Denathrius’ machinations were not in vain and _we_ will hold the power in Revendreth.”

“What should we do with the soul, milady?” asked Shenraa.

“Please bore someone else with your inane questions,” she replied evenly, draining her goblet. “That’s all.”

She took one more look at the stoneborn below. Fools, idiots, and imbeciles, all blinding following her command. It was just as easy in death to gain and hold power as it was in life. These beings would not be so defiant as those that came before. She turned on her heel and stalked out of the room, her boots clacking on the granite floor. 

The phylactery was housed in the lower levels of the keep, a gift to the first Stonewright born of the Sire. It had taken so little effort to pledge her support to Denathrius; he fed on praise and loyalty so eagerly. Living kings took more work than he did in less time. Soon enough, she had found herself with a Harvester’s Medallion in her hand and a seat of power befitting the woman who had built her life on ruling a kingdom through whispers and lies. 

At the edge of the chamber, dark and damp and closed off from the moonlight that spilled through her upper window, sat a cage. She sneered at the iron bars, the memory of its former occupant still fresh in her mind. She had tried to contain the little monster, but she had pushed him into the attention of the Accuser and he had bought his own freedom through atonement. 

_He is mine. He has not yet atoned of his sins._

_He has repented, Stonemother. He shall be granted the full rights of the ritual. He shall choose whether he stays with you or not._

The Stonewright shook her head of the memory. One more failure on a long list. But as she lifted her eyes to the newly acquired soul, one unfortunate soul that she had successfully recovered from the Maw, she found it recoiling under her gaze.

“I’ve waited such a long time for you,” she purred softly, approaching the cage to wrap her long fingers around one of the bars, relishing in the feel of her rings against the metal.

“You should have waited longer,” it rasped. “You know they’ll look for me.”

“Oh I count on it, love,” The Stonewright smirked venomously. “After all, they’re just as much mine as you are. They _will_ come, and they will repent for their failures.” She scrutinized the soul cowering at the back of the cage, trying to keep as far from her as it could. She gave it a fond smile with a tilt of her head. “This _really is_ for the best.”

She backed from the cage and slid silently out of the dungeon, locking the door in her wake.

@}—>—

“ _I want to spar._ ”

Kearnen looked up from her task, her brow knit quizzically. She had come to the training domicile to wait out the responses from the demon hunter and the commander of the Wild Hunt. One thing she realized in her afterlife was that patience was not the virtue it was made out to be, even more so in a land without time. She let out a snort and set back to her task of sharpening her blades, ignoring the shadow standing before her. A sword clacked the blade in her hand to draw her attention again, bringing her eyes up to meet Edwin’s.

“I said, I want to spar,” he demanded again, his dark form whisped away to show the man he was in life, save for the necrotic green glow of his eyes. Silver, she recalled. His eyes had been a clear silver back then.

“Not now, little shadow,” she replied softly, trying again to sharpen her blade. Her hand stilled when he dropped next to her on the bench, the irritation and fret pouring off him in a wave. They sat in an uncomfortable silence, and when she thought he wouldn’t continue, she passed the whetstone over the metal again.

“Why did you do it?” he blurted. “Why did you send one of the living with a message to summon him?”

Kearnen let out a sigh, in as much as she could. “Because if my assumptions are correct and Pathonia is gathering power in Revendreth, I need someone on my side who can think like her.”

“He would never,” Edwin sneered. “He _could_ never be like that.”

“I didn’t say he was.” Kearnen sat her blade and the whetstone aside. “You weren’t around, Ed. You didn’t get to see what it was like after she was gone. The good he has done. Agents who cowered under her command respect him and fight for him eagerly.” She looked at the floor with a sad smile. “I was one of them,” she added wistfully.

“I want to come with you.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why?” Edwin asked indignantly. “I’ve been out on assignments of my own plenty of times. The Baroness would have no qualms.”

“No, Ed. You would be a distraction.”

Edwin blinked at her, a realization passing over his face. “You knew, didn’t you?”

Kearnen closed her eyes, gathering her thoughts. “Not explicitly,” she admitted carefully. “Look, I’ve known Shaw my whole life, and worked for the Agency almost as long. I think after you and Baros, I was the closest thing he’s ever had to a friend, and vice versa. I learned his tells when it came to you, the way he’d speak or hold himself if you were brought into conversation. To anyone else, it would be nothing more than a loyal citizen of the kingdom disgruntled at the mention of the Defias. To _him_ …” she trailed, her face softening, “to him it was _pain_. It didn’t take me long to figure it out, not that I let on, mind.”

“I want to go,” Edwin pressed again. She could hear it in his voice, so different than the idealistic and defiant man from a long forgotten memory. “Please, I don’t ask for anything. I learned my lesson. I set to any task you or the Baroness ask of me. Let me be selfish, just this once. This one time, just let me be by his side.”

“He’s not quite the man you knew back then, Edwin. And to be honest, I can’t guarantee his safety if I have to watch your hide as well. Please, don’t fight me on this. Stay here, do as the Baroness asks, and when we make it back, I’ll bring him to you to say goodbye.”

“Don’t _do_ this, Amber,” he pleaded, her heart clenching at the use of her name given in life. It had been so long since she had heard it. In fact, she was sure that Shaw was the one who said it last.

“Kearnen, sir?” The Blade turned to find one of Draka’s attendants hovering in the entryway to the domicile. “We have word from the Illidari, they’ve arrived in Oribos.”

She nodded, lifting from the bench and slipping into her chosen arachnid form. “I’m coming,” she called over her shoulder to the attendant. She looked back to Ed one last time, finding a little shadow crouched near her again. “I’m sorry, Edwin, but you have to stay.”

“ _Whatever. I'll stay away. Give him my regards_ ,” he spat as he crawled up into the mezzanine of the room and crept quickly back towards the Prime Hall of the necropolis. Kearnen closed her eyes and willed herself calm before following him out, hoping he would obey.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies that this prologue does not have our boys, but they are coming. I promise. Lot's of little hint drops I've had going for some time are going to pay off here. Faith and Patience, lovelies!
> 
> Comments and Kudos are always appreciated, and they do believe in faeries.


	2. Faith, Trust, and Faerie Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Take care, lest an adventure is now offered you, which, if accepted, will plunge you in deepest woe._

“I take it back. I take it _all_ back. _That_ was the worst portal I’ve ever been through. Sweet fuck.”

Mathias turned to find Flynn bent at the waist, hands on his knees, and his head bowed. He shook his head, reaching up to make sure the hood of his cloak was still in place over his hair as his operative joined them on the platform. She gave a quick tilt of her head, indicating to follow, only to be halted by a soft cough behind him.

“Er, mate?” Flynn broached. Mathias turned to find Flynn gazing out into the beyond. “That doesn’t strike you as normal, does it?”

Mathias joined him at his side, looking over the edge of the precipice into the swirling mass of crimson below them. The air crackled with static lacing the thick black tendrils of fog. 

“The hell is that?” he muttered cautiously.

“The Maw,” the demon hunter replied simply. She reached out and touched his arm, coaxing them from the edge. “The Highlord awaits for vetting, sir.” Mathias chanced a weary glance at Flynn before following, knowing he was just a pace behind. 

His operative led them within the gates of the city, all grey stone, shining marble and hard copper accents. She gave a quick nod of her head to duck into a side corridor away from the bustle of champions hovering around the center. They passed a kiosk of strange beings with blades for legs and flames for heads hustling for trade, and the same passing thought he had when he received Amber’s missive hours before addled his mind. Just what in the _hells_ was going on?

They crossed into the next chamber and paused as his operative gave a quick signal to hang back. She approached the marble dias housing a large stone slab, a war table if he were to take a guess, and conversed privately with the man directing champions next to an oddly hovering creature. His skin was pocked and burned black, lined with bright lines like hellfire. Mathias’ breath caught in his throat as he realized who they were brought to first. The demon hunter gave a little nod to come forward. 

“Mathias Shaw,” the man greeted with an ashen rasp to his voice. “I did not anticipate to see you on this side of the veil.”

Mathias cleared his throat. “I didn’t either,” he replied modestly with a quirk to his eyebrows. “I’m here at a… _personal_ request. We’re to meet a contact in a place called Maldraxxus.” He noted the curious appraisal he was giving his companion and inclined his head. “Flynn, I present Highlord Fordragon,” he muttered.

Flynn brightened, as he was wont to do when introduced. “Captain Flynn Fairwind, at your— wait.“ he abruptly stopped, his eyes going wide and began to shoot his gaze between Mathias and the Highlord. “You mean, _Bolvar_ Fordragon.”

Mathias grit his teeth. “Apologies, sir,” he addressed the Highlord. “Flynn is an acquaintance of your daughter, Taelia.”

Bolvar turned sharply to Flynn, his face displaying interest as much as it could under the char. “ _My_ Taelia?” 

There was a bit of an uncomfortable pause as Flynn simply stared at him. Mathias nudged him gently with his elbow to snap him to attention. “Er, yessir, been friends with Tae for a dog’s age." Flynn rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish grin.

“I see. And is she here accompanying the two of you?” Mathias didn’t fail to notice the little hint of hope in his voice. 

“I’m afraid that she has been rather occupied in the company of the King at the moment,” he replied delicately. 

Bolvar grew quiet, looking away from the pair for a brief moment. Mathias tried to track his line of sight, but only found a trio of Forsaken, one of which was Derek Proudmoore, conversing amongst themselves. “I believe her mother would be proud of that,” he replied wistfully, snapping back from his reverie. “I assume you would like to make haste to meet with your personal request then, Shaw.”

“As soon as is feasible, yes,” Mathias answered evenly.

Bolvar handed him a small parchment. “Give this to the Pathscribe upstairs, this Illidari can show you where. They can accommodate passage to Maldraxxus.” Mathias clicked his tongue as he started to turn away. “And Mathias? Please give my daughter my regards.”

“Will do, sir,” Flynn answered for him and saluted as they followed the demon hunter to the platform leading to the upper levels of the great city.

@}—>—

“So, this is Maldraxxus,” Mathias muttered as he coughed into a handkerchief from his pack as they touched down. The atmosphere was cloyingly thick with the stench of weeks old spores and mold gone stale clinging in the air. “Charming,” he added scathingly.

“Ugh, I’m going to need a week in our bath when we’re through,” Flynn groused, sidling next to him, wriggling in his coat. “And the fuck is that _smell?_ ”

“You don’t get used to it,” the demon hunter said evenly as she motioned them to follow up the stone steps. 

“Whatever you say, Grunnhildegarde,” Flynn murmured with a roll of his eyes.

Mathias sighed. “Must you?”

“Wot?!” Flynn squawked. “Neither of you will actually _tell_ me her name.”

“She specifically requested not to,” Mathias stifled a chuckle as Flynn tried to gape, only to be met with another horrendous coughing fit. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

They crossed the threshold into the Prime Necropolis. Mathias had to take a brief pause to even his breathing. The damp chamber was bathed in a soft green light emitted from torches lining the stone walls that brought forth memories he’d rather keep buried. It took him a moment to remember that this was not the same place that harbored a past evil he couldn’t describe, deep within Suramar, long before Flynn and a life he never thought he could lead. He shook away the painful thought as they were escorted into the chamber, a short distance from another war table. This one seemed to be strewn with parchments of crude drawings and stone markers. He observed an orc woman handing out commands deftly to a group of living champions while a large arachnid hovered nearby.

“Well, this is different,” Mathias said low, under his breath.

“What’s different, mate?”

“It’s not often I find myself on the same side as a Nerubian,” he admitted.

“My hearing has significantly improved since last we met,” the spider approached. Mathias watched as a shimmer appeared around it, revealing the devastatingly familiar form of Amber Kearnen and his breath hitched. “And I’m an Aranakk, not a Nerubian, asshole.”

Mathias’ brow knitted, the barest hint of anguish and guilt running along his skin. “Amber,” he breathed, feeling Flynn’s hand on his arm. He pulled back his hood gently, the cloth feeling heavy under the weight of the spores in the air.

“How long has it been, Shaw?” she asked with a hint of a grin trying to pull at her mouth. 

“Four years, give or take,” he replied. She hadn’t changed a bit from the last time he saw her, save for the necrotic green glow of her good eye. 

“That long,” she said pensively, crossing her arms across her chest. “Sorry, time… well it doesn’t move here, though I'm sure _your_ internal clock won't stop in measure. Everything feels like yesterday.” Mathias watched her throw a glance up at the mezzanine that lined the vaulted walls, not quite catching what she was looking at. “And you’ve made a friend, I see,” she quipped when she brought her gaze back down.

“Something like that.” 

“Whassat s’posed to mean, ‘something like that’?” Flynn complained. Amber threw the pair a small amused frown with her brow raised over her good eye. Mathias knew the gesture well; she was holding back from openly laughing.

“Come on, scoundrel.” He rolled his eyes and gave the man a nudge. “Let’s see what needs done.”

“This way,” Amber gestured for them to approach the war table, moving a piece as she passed around to the other side of the orc. “Baroness. Spymaster Shaw.”

Mathias raised an eyebrow under her scrutiny and gave a curt nod. “So, what am I looking at?”

“These are the four main realms of the Shadowlands,” Amber began explaining. “We’ve had Eyes in all corners, nothing you’re unfamiliar with, sir.” And that stung, having not heard her address him as such in so long. “Living champions have been containing incursions in Bastion and Ardenweald,” she paused to move two pieces on the board, “but we’ve had some trouble discerning the situation here.” She pointed to the western island marked Revendreth.

“And what’s this great fucking blob of space here?” Flynn pointed to a darkened swirl in the corner of the map.

“The Maw,” the Baroness replied and Mathias did not mistake the significance of such a place being brought up twice to him now. “It houses those that are damned for no short of eternity.” The two men passed each other a serious glance. “Ever since the drought, everything has been sent there, even souls who do not belong in that realm. The living have been reporting back that the Jailer, Zovaal, has been trying to overtake the other realms with assistance from one of yours.”

“One of ours?” Mathias asked quizzically.

“Sylvanas Windrunner,” Amber confirmed.

"Not one of ours." Mathias clicked his jaw. “That’s where she’s been hiding,” he murmured, inhaling a sharp breath. “And where do I fit in here?”

Amber gave a quick nod, drawing their attention back to Revendreth. “This realm’s leader was found to be in league with Zovaal. He’s been contained, for _now_ , but their activity hasn’t changed. Our spies have been dispatched to shadow Denathrius’ subordinates, but…” she trailed, moving a few pieces around the board. “We have been able to surmise three that have been carrying on in their master’s stead. We’ve got a bead on two of them, but one has been eluding us in her movements.” She moved a red stone on the board, her finger resting on it. “The Stonewright.”

“Well, _that_ can’t be a coincidence, mate,” Flynn said cautiously.

“Coincidence?” asked Kearnen, her eyes flicking between the two. 

“There was an incident on our side, just in the last few days,” Mathias explained. “It’s been insinuated that someone called the Stonewright is seeking me out. _Personally._ ” 

Amber straightened, crossing her arms thoughtfully. She shot another glance to the mezzanine behind her. “That’s worrisome,” she murmured to herself. Mathias filed the gesture away.

“What intel have you gathered?”

“Not much, unfortunately.” Amber shook her head. “She keeps to her manor, rarely making appearances. She oversees the creation of stone golems and gargoyles that stand sentinel in the realm. One of our spies reported back that she’s been keeping a soul for her own personal amusement in her dungeon amongst empty cages.”

“Like some sort of sick and twisted pet?” Flynn scrunched up his nose in disgust.

“We’re not certain. They had to abandon the recon. The reports mention that she won’t let anyone near the chamber where it’s kept.” She paused, biting at the corner of her lip. “However, I have it on good authority that she tends to torture the souls she holds captive.”

“From the spies you’ve sent in?”

Her lips pressed into a line and shook her head. “Let’s just say I have a fairly reliable source,” she hedged. Mathias was not blind to her secrets; any good spy would keep some information to themselves. Knowing Amber as long as he had, if she wasn’t openly giving him details, she had sound reason. A soft growl and a flicker of movement above her drew his attention, but when his eyes lifted to the ledge, he found nothing there. He brought his eyes back to the table before him, he found the Baroness scrutinizing him with a tilt of her head.

“Crimson sunset,” she hummed softly with a click of her tusked jaw.

Mathias’ brow furrowed suspiciously. “Beg pardon?” He flicked his gaze to Amber. “Are you not telling me something?” She worried her lip between her teeth, shaking her head before a courier handed her a sealed scroll.

Amber broke the wax deftly with a finger, belying how sharp her fingers had become under the facade. With a quick skim of the page, she gave a quick nod. “Herne’s agreed to reinforcements, sir,” she said to the Baroness. “Wildhunters should be crossing over at any time.” She paused, a quirk of a grin playing on her lips. “Finally,” she breathed.

“What is it?” asked Mathias curiously, attempting to lean closer to read over her shoulder. The language was lost on him, however, and wasn’t that a first.

“I had requested a pair of his rangers to accompany me —by that, I mean, _us_ — into Revendreth on this mission. They’re two of his best, bonded mates from what I understand, but extremely reluctant to fieldwork. I’m shocked that they agreed at all to this, but not that they won’t come to meet here.” Amber passed one more fleeting glance to the mezzanine above. “We’ll have to meet them in Ardenweald. She’s _really_ not going to be happy crossing over into Revendreth. These two tend to stay close to their home.”

“You shouldn’t keep them waiting, Kearnen,” the Baroness added. “With any hope, the faster the situation can be contained, the quicker we can add the Venthyr to our aid.”

“Yes, sir,” Amber gave a quick bow, gesturing the two men to follow her back towards the entrance. Mathias stopped, feeling Flynn’s pause. 

“Just for the sake of wondering, love,” he broached the Baroness, “what was your name again?”

She looked at him impassively, belying neither offense nor courtesy at his request. “Draka,” she supplied evenly. Mathias tilted his head with an incredulous brow, the name familiar from a stack of dossiers he kept on significant figures within the Horde.

“Draka,” Flynn rolled the name on his tongue. “Lovely. Well, Lady Draka, I hope we get to make your acquaintance again soon.” He gave a gracious bow before stepping to join his mate on the steps leading down from the dias. Mathias shook his head with a soft chuckle.

Leave it to his idiot to try and make a friend anywhere.

@}—>—

By Mathias’ fairly accurate estimation, it took them the better part of an hour and a half to cross into the realm of what Amber had called Ardenweald. She hadn't changed from the appearance he knew best, and for that he was grateful.

They touched down on a wooden platform, Mathias pulling his hood back over his head as Amber led them through what he could only expect to be a great tree. He had had the fortune to visit both world trees in his time, so the concept wasn’t lost on him. This, however, was much grander than either he had encountered before, and with no shortage of intriguing characters inhabiting within. He felt the familiar touch of a calloused hand tug his elbow and halted.

“Mate,” Flynn whispered to him. “They’ve fucking _faeries_ here.”

Mathias rolled his eyes and gave his lover a gloriously pointed glare. “I shouldn’t have to ask why you’re like this.” he retorted with a raise of a brow.

“No, I mean. _Real_ , honest to goodness _faeries_. Look,” Flynn pointed out to the vestibule, indicating a group of small creatures hovering the ground with butterfly wings.

“Are you two finished gawking?” Amber groused at them. “The Lord Commander’s waiting on us, you know.”

Amber brought them out to a spacious courtyard, the open night sky and soft glow from the canopy of the forest bathing the training yard in a wash of white-blue light. “Hold here,” she commanded with a stay of her hand as she slipped into ther arachnid form and approached a creature with the torso of a man but the body of a stag. Mathias shifted his weight as they conversed, watching as he called over one of the faun-like creatures to be briefed. Sylvar, he thought he’d heard Amber murmur to him, but he couldn’t be certain. The whole thing was starting to feel a bit overwhelming, if he were honest. Soon enough, Amber shifted back and beckoned them over.

“This is Aithlyn, sir. She and her mate will be accompanying us.”

“I hope you’re not expecting me to call you that,” Aithlyn crossed her arms with a tilt of her antlered head. “You have names, little spy?”

Mathias could feel her reluctance pouring off of her. Mistrust and hesitance laid into the way she carried herself. She was wary, he’d no doubt. “My companion is Flynn, and you may call me Mathias,” he said impassively as another Sylvar came to touch her shoulder. The male tugged, frantically throwing hand signals at his mate in a panic.

“It’s been a while I know, but I’m afraid I’m not following, Shaw,” Amber whispered to him as they watched the pair converse heatedly.

“He’s screaming,” Mathias confirmed softly to her. “And I thought you said your name was _Aithlyn_ ,” he added to the woman. The pair froze, Aithlyn snapping her attention to him. Mathias raised an eyebrow as he watched the realization that he could somewhat understand their private language cross her face. Just as quickly, it was gone.

“It is,” she lied.

Mathias crossed his arms and inhaled through his nose. “Is my presence going to be an issue?” He felt Flynn place a hand on his shoulder, but did not shrug him off. No, he needed his lover to ground him, needed his presence beside him.

“No,” Aithlyn replied, feigning impassiveness, “it’s fine. We should head out however. My husband and I would rather not tarry.”

Amber nodded, turning to return to the flight master en route to Revendreth, the sylvar following close behind. Flynn gave Mathias’ shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

“Everything alright, mate?” he asked, his hand moving from shoulder to his nape. “You’re all tensed up like your fight or flight is mule-kicking.”

Mathias shook his head. “Just sorting through my mind. Something’s not adding up.”

Flynn leaned in and nuzzled his temple just past the hood of his cloak. “You love me, yeah?” he whispered against the silver bloom of his copper hair.

“Yeah, I love you,” he muttered back, leaning into the touch before stepping away from him to follow.

@}—>—

Edwin sat crouched in the heights of a tall tree above the training court under the blanket of sweet night stars, watching the exchange. He knew he was going back on his word, that he was defying Amber’s orders and to be sure disappointing the Baroness, but he couldn’t help it. Mathias Shaw was _here_ , was solid and just within reach, a flame he’d always be drawn to.

Even if that flame was no longer his to burn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was an excruciating amount of needed exposition and everyone introducing themselves to each other and it was just a great big ball of awkward. DX Now with all the niceties out of the way perhaps I can push on through to something meatier.
> 
> Comments and Kudos are as always welcome and appreciated and play How-do-you-do-and-shake.


	3. The Eaters of Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _After you have been unfair to him, he will love you again, but he will never afterwards be quite the same boy. No one ever gets over their first unfairness._   
> 

“And how many do we have in this region?”

“A score, give or take, ma’am,” confirmed General Kaal, “with another dozen just about ready to join them. The new batch are being trained to send out to the Village Ward soon.” 

“And the hatchlings?”

“Being chiseled as we speak.”

The Stonewright looked over the manifests in her study, her face neutral as she quickly made a mark on one of the parchments. She pulled out a fresh page, quickly penning a disused Thalassian cipher that she knew only one other could read. The missive was scrolled tightly and sealed with a press of the emblem of Denathrius and handed to the General. 

“Take this to our contact in Oribos with strict instruction for it to see its way to the Tower. Only then should it pass into her hands.”

“It’s done, ma’am.” The General bowed, leaving the Stonewright to her thoughts. She pursed her lips, glancing over her paperwork once more, dropping the pages on her desk. She stalked out of the office and turned a corridor on the way to the phylactery.

There was one thing from her former life that never left her: her timesense. She was well aware that time was not an existent concept in these undying lands, but her mind kept the tick of seconds as natural as a heartbeat. If left too long to her thoughts, she could swear that she could hear bells chime in the distance on the hour if she tried. 

She had kept her visits to the darkened chamber minimal, every twelve hours precisely. She knew that her prize could count on the second as well; she had taught him, after all.

“Here to torture me,” he asked.

“Oh, beloved,” she purred, “if I haven’t tortured you yet, what makes you think I’d start now?”

“Because, I know you.”

“You think so little of me. I’m hurt.”

The soul averted the Stonewright’s gaze upon him. “You don’t know _how_ to be hurt.”

The Stonewright tilted her head and narrowed her eyes. “Don’t I?” She made to say something else, but was interrupted by the clattering of clumsy claws against the stone floor from the stairwell stole her attention. She sneered, inclining her head just over her shoulder. 

“Pardon the intrusion, ma’am,” her First Talon broached. 

“Did you smack your little head against the steps outside?” she snarled. “How _dare_ you seek an audience in this private chamber.”

“Apologies, ma’am” Syndaal cowered. “We’ve received reports from the counterspies.”

The Stonewright closed her eyes, willing herself to calm. She had been waiting on the intelligence reports for too long. 

“What’s the matter, hm? Your minions lacking in brain matter?”

“Quiet you,” she hissed to her captive. She stormed away from the cage, grabbing the gargoyle by the elbow to drag it up the stairs, locking the door swiftly. “This had better be good.”

“We’ve heard from the scouts beyond the veil. The witch that you had sent has disappeared from our line of sight. We think that she—”

“Details of your incompetence do not interest me,” she snapped. Another failure to add to the never ending list. “Surely you have something _useful_ to present.”

“Eviscera brought to my attention the arrival of a suspicious party entering the Village Ward from Ardenweald.”

“And how exactly would you define _suspicious?_ ” asked the Stonewright, her face devoid of emotion save for the raise of a single eyebrow.

“Two of the living, two Sylvar, a Maldraxxi…” Syndaal paused.

“You hesitate. Why?”

“The shadow is with them.”

Her other brow rose to join its mate. Well, now. That _was_ interesting.

“Send counterspies to join Eviscera,” the Stonewright commanded. “Track their movements and alert me at once if they cross into Sinfall.”

“Consider it done, ma’am.” Syndaal gave a quick bow and skittered away.

The Stonewright chewed on the intel received. A hunting party with the shadow in tow. She _would_ have him back as a trophy, the one that got away. Oh, yes. This had all the makings of her lucky day.

@}—>—

The flight to Darkhaven was significantly shorter, and for that Mathias was grateful. The ardenmoths they had been provided for transport were certainly an easier ride than whatever they had taken from Oribos, but the passages between the realms were still jarring. It didn’t help that Flynn had exclaimed with excitement that he wanted to take one home as a pet.

They touched down at the far edge of the village. The two sylvar tended to the moths, with Aithlyn conversing with a small gargoyle to barter for their care. Mathias moved to stand at Flynn’s side, his lover startling at the gentle touch he pressed against his arm. He would have suppressed a chuckle when Flynn’s hand flew to his heart with a gasp if the situation they found themselves in wasn’t so worrisome.

“Sorry, mate. Place has me a titch spooked. Reminds me of—“

“Darkshire,” Mathias offered with a nod. “I’m getting that as well.” He threw a glance over his shoulder as Amber appeared on his other side. “What’s the plan?” 

“We need to petition Renethal before going into the territory,” she explained. “The Court is still sometimes wary of letting outsiders scout their lands, even if the intentions are benevolent.” She held up a thick roll of parchments, tinged grey like the message he had received that morning. “We present the evidence of treachery and hope that he accepts the request to confront the Stonewright.”

“And how do I play into this, Amber?” Mathias crossed his arms and raised a brow.

“She’s smart, and she’s ruthless. She knows how to keep up appearances, but we’ve found that she has an agenda.” She paused, her lips set into a line. “You think like her,” she said cautiously. “That can be used as an advantage, to stay ahead of her. I’ve had to pull scouts from her perimeters already. I _need_ the best, which is why I came to _you_.”

Mathias mulled over Amber’s words. _You think like her._ He clicked his jaw, wanting so much to be wrong in his assumptions, but didn’t voice it. He gave a nod, indicating for her to lead the way as she slipped into her arachnid form.

They entered the ominous keep with Flynn bumping Mathias’ shoulder as he kept at his side. There was a general feeling of unwelcome surrounding him that he couldn’t quite put his finger on. They were brought to a halt by a quick wave of Amber’s hand as she approached a thin, pallid woman in the vestibule. Mathias shifted his eyes around the room, a force of habit to check his surroundings, only stepping forward when beckoned.

“Let me look upon you, mortal,” the woman said, giving him and Flynn a once over.

“Harriet serves at the right hand of Renethal,” Amber quietly explained in her raspy voice. “She vets everyone who requests an audience. They call her the Accuser because the souls of Revendreth go before her for atonement. She reads and assesses the transgressions of one’s timeline, as it were.”

“You are _quite_ fascinating,” Harriet hummed, rubbing a long finger against her lower lip. “Your sins are many, but so seldom do I see the way they intertwine with others so beautifully. _Two_ in fact.” Mathias watched as her keen eyes flicked past him. “Oh. Make that three,” she added as she looked upon him again. He chanced a glance over his shoulder, finding the pair of sylvar hovering a few paces behind them. 

“I apologize, milady,” Amber cut in, “but I’m afraid that our assignment is to be carried out with a certain sense of urgency.”

“Of course.” Harriet extended her hand graciously. “I will take you to the Prince at once.”

They were led across several chambers and corridors with no shortage of activity occupying the various parlors and drawing rooms. Mathias could feel his patience waning with every twist and turn. He was beginning to think that they were being sent on a wild gryphon chase when he felt Flynn’s elbow bump his. 

“Tell me, mate,” Flynn muttered close to his ear, “all that time you lot were berthed in Boralus, you ever find yourself in Drustvar?”

Mathias rolled his eyes. “I didn’t just stand around the _Redemption_ with my thumb up my arse, if that’s what you’re asking,” he muttered back, hoping his companion had a point to make. 

“Hilarious, you are,” Flynn chided. “What I mean to say is that did you ever, I don’t know, find yourself doing a walk-through of the old Waycrest place?”

Mathias chewed on his upper lip. It had been quite some time since he had scouted the better part of Kul Tiras on assignments he didn’t trust setting to the random champion. “Once or twice, perhaps,” he admitted. “Why?”

“Eh, s'nothing. Place is giving off a lot of that same feeling.”

“Waycrest Manor had a lot more slime.”

“Same smell of death, though.”

Mathias knitted his brow pensively. “The whole of the Shadowlands stinks of death.”

“Ah, but not where we picked up Romulo and Julianne back there, it didn’t.” 

Mathias grew quiet, his thoughts drifting between what the venthyr leading them had said and the exchange hours before between the mates trailing behind them. It left him befuddled, like a cipher he couldn’t quite seem to crack even though the key is right in front of him. He didn’t get much time to dwell on it, however. They were brought before a pair of towering doors, The Accuser pushing them open with a grand flourish to bring them down a carpeted hall.

“My liege.” She bowed low to the sickly creature before them. “I present Kearnen the Blade from the Maldraxxi House of Eyes to petition a request before the Court.” He waved her off to give Amber a beckoning flick of his spindly hand.

"Come forward, child."

“Prince Renethal,” Amber greeted with a curt nod. “On behalf of the Seat of the Primus, I extend the many thanks of the Barons of Maldraxxus for your agreement to meet with my party. We come before you and your council with disturbing reports brought from our informants.” She stepped forward, holding out the scroll. “Word of Denathrius’ imprisonment has reached our ears, yet the movement of anima into the Maw has remained unchanged.”

Renethal unrolled the documents and skimmed over the pages, his eyes widening as he went further into the text. Harriet came up beside him and began to read over his shoulder. “How could this have escaped our notice?” he asked.

“I did warn that some of the remaining Harvesters may still have loyalties tying back to Denathrius,” she said pointedly.

“The Fearstalker has been eliminated, mind,” confirmed Renethal.

“And I have agents working with your generals in regards to the Caretaker and the Tithelord, sir,” Amber added. “We come before you about the Stonewright. Our intel suggests that there’s been a generous amount of anima still being delivered to the Maw from the Military Ward, aside from souls she may be collecting for more _personal_ pursuits.”

“If I may,” Mathias stepped forward to Amber’s side. “It’s been brought to my attention that this Stonewright has interests that lie in the land of the living as well.”

Renethal turned his attention to the spymaster, his softly glowing eyes scrutinizing him. “The Stonewright has been delivering us satisfactory reports along with a great supplement of stoneborn to protect these lands. While I agree that it troubles me that the information you present is contradictory, I would need further evidence to deem her as a true threat.” He gave a small nod to the Accuser. “If you will excuse me, I have other matters to attend to. I’m sure you understand.” He turned and glided out a side door, leaving Mathias and Amber at a loss. 

“Come with me,” Harriet instructed softly, leading the group away from the altar.

The trek back was direct, a few sharp turns and they found themselves in due time near the flight path. Mathias pursed his lips, annoyance drawing across his face. He felt Flynn’s hand on his arm and tried to calm, the feel of a growl touching the back of his throat. Harriet stopped the party, turning to address them quietly.

“Meet me at Sinfall. I believe there is merit in your findings.”

“You’re helping us without Renethal’s consent?” Amber asked incredulously.

“The prince may exude caution when accusations are brought to his attention before the Court. However…” Harriet paused with a raise of her eyebrows. “Well, they don’t call me the Accuser for nothing.”

“What do you know?” asked Mathias, his eyes narrowing.

“ _Sinfall,_ ” she hissed. “Darkhaven has ears.”

@}—>—

They touched down just inside the grounds of the Ember Ward. Compared to what they had seen thus far of Revendreth, the area was hard and bright, bathed in harsh light. Mathias raised a hand to shield his eyes as he squinted across the desolace. 

“How far is Sinfall?” he asked when Amber shifted back to her human form. 

“There’s an elevator just across the valley.” She pointed off into the distance. “We’ll take the way by foot. I know you would prefer the shadows, but trust me when I say it would be better to hide in the light.”

They set off between the rises of the cliffs, the warmth of the barren land becoming an unwelcome change to the cool air of Darkhaven. Mathias didn’t dare remove his hood, not wanting to draw extra attention to himself, although he could feel beads of sweat starting to edge his hairline. He kept a hand on one of his hilts and his eyes scanning around them for potential threats. He noted that Aithlyn kept her bowstring drawn with her mate close to her side and Amber walked with her own daggers in hand. He startled slightly when Flynn touched his elbow, nearly pulling his dagger from its sheath.

“Your subtlety is astounding,” Mathias murmured, resting the blade back in its leather casing.

“Sorry, mate,” replied Flynn, his gaze flitting past him. 

“What is it?”

“Hate to bring this to your attention, but we’ve had a tail since Darkhaven,” Flynn muttered, low enough for his ears alone. Mathias ground to a halt, following his lover’s line of sight up to the edge of the canyon. Sure enough, a darkened creature sat crouched at the edge of the canyon, no bigger than a wight by his estimate.

“Amber?” She paused a few paces ahead, backtracking to them. “We’re being followed.” Mathias indicated to the spot on the canyon with a small nod of his head. She glanced up to the ledge and pursed her lips, averting her eyes with exasperation.

“He’s one of ours,” Amber admitted with a click of her jaw.

“One of yours?”

“Aye, sir. He belongs to the Baroness,” she shot her eyes back to the shadow lingering above them, “and he was told to _stay behind_.” Mathias followed her gaze back up, finding the creature cowering back, just a bit.

“Then why is he following us?” he asked cautiously, drawing his attention back to the woman before him.

Amber tilted her head, her face etched with sympathy. “He’s not following _us._ He’s following _you_.” 

Mathias blinked at her, realization hitting him. His eyes fell to a point on the ground, and felt Flynn’s gentle hand on his shoulder. He barely registered the pair of sylvar stepping past him. 

It couldn’t be, could it?

“Mate?” Flynn encouraged. “She said we’re nearly to the elevator.”

Mathias inhaled sharply, bringing his eyes to his lover. Bright, wonderful, ridiculous, patient Flynn. He watched the man’s brow knit as Mathias cleared his throat, trying like hell to reconcile himself. He gave an affirmative nod before stealing one, fleeting glance back up the canyon. The creature stared down at him and his heart gave a small clench before following the group again.

@}—>—

“Milady,” Eviscera approached the Stonewright in her study, glaring out her window with goblet in hand. “You wished to be alerted when the Maldraxxi crossed into Sinfall.”

“Acceptable work, Eviscera,” she replied, her voice impassive. “Gather a party of counterspies to be at the ready. If they breach the property, bring them to me alive.”

“As you command.”

At last. The Stonewright took a hearty sip of her drink, letting the animawine invigorate her. It was all coming together better than she could have ever imagined. Soon, what was once hers would freely walk into her domain, and she would lay claim to them again.

Her family of blood.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just gave myself chills, but I'm happy with the chapter, and I cannot WAIT to do the next. It's the one I've been looking forward to get to. OMG.
> 
> Comments are appreciated and welcomed as always lovelies!


End file.
